


never felt a wound

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Series: fire & powder [8]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Bathing/Washing, Bottom Eskel (The Witcher), Exhibitionism, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Making Love, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Ruthlessly Cherry-Picked Canon, Scent Kink, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Threesome, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Voyeurism, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion, blowjob, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23981686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: “I love your smile.” Jaskier presses another kiss to that little spot, a little firmer. Pointed. “How unique it is, how it lights up your whole face.”Jaskier has a series of realizations about Eskel.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: fire & powder [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698274
Comments: 221
Kudos: 1173
Collections: Ashes' Library, Polyamorous Relationships For the Win





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ???
> 
> this is.......both exactly what i set out to write and also nothing like what i set out to write. so. yeah. i think this lands somewhere after jaskier and lambert fuck. i....think. idk for sure. the timeline is so flexible it doesn't exist, basically.
> 
> i used several people's ideas in this but it is very late and i am very tired so i cannot for the life of me remember who gave me ideas and my vision is starting to blur so finding the comments is not happening right now. if you see your idea in this, thank you so much and i love you dearly!!!
> 
> ?????????

Jaskier spends a lot of time taking care of his Witchers.

That’s not to say that they don’t do their own caring, of course. Geralt is known to bring him food to wherever he’s holed up to compose; Lambert is determined to teach him how to fight and defend himself properly; Vesemir likes to talk to him about whatever little tangent interest Jaskier has picked up that day (herbalism, potions, the history of the Spheres, et cetera).

Eskel, though, is a bit different.

As in, he’s…well, Jaskier doesn’t want to use the word _overbearing._ Attentive, maybe, or observant.

What he means, to be plain, is that Eskel spends an almost disturbing amount of time trying to cater to Jaskier’s every need, and very rarely lets Jaskier do it in return.

At first, it hadn’t really struck Jaskier as odd. Eskel was already the most accommodating of his Witchers, the most receptive. Jaskier had had his attention on breaking Lambert of his need to hide behind sarcasm and vitriol, mostly. Alongside the continuing battle of getting Geralt to use his words and doing his best to worm his way into Vesemir’s trust, Eskel’s constant services sort of fell to the side.

Until, suddenly, it seems like it’s front and center, because _Geralt_ notices it. And, more than that, he brings it up.

“Did you and Eskel disagree on something?” he asks.

They’re getting ready for bed. It’s rather early – supper was barely an hour ago. But after a day of fighting a pair of forktails that had gotten too close to the castle for comfort, Lambert and Geralt had been exhausted, and Eskel had been in a bit of a funk all day as it was. Vesemir had suggested they all turn in early, and everyone had agreed.

Jaskier turns and blinks at him, hoping for an elaboration. He doesn’t get it, of course. He resists the urge to roll his eyes and finishes undressing before crawling into the bed with Geralt. “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”

Geralt turns his head to look at him. He’s frowning, just slightly; it’s not terribly different than his resting expression, but Jaskier is very good at reading him by now. “He’s….” Geralt pauses, frown deepening and eyebrows drawing together. “He keeps doing things for you.”

Jaskier laughs, but it dies out quickly when he sees that the furrow between Geralt’s brows doesn’t budge. “I – well, yes. He does that, doesn’t he?”

Geralt shakes his head. “Not…not like he has been.”

Jaskier chews his lip for a moment. “What do you mean?”

There’s a heavy silence while Geralt clearly tries to organize his thoughts into words. Jaskier threads their fingers together between them while he waits.

“He likes doing things for his loved ones, us,” Geralt finally says, slowly. There’s another pause before he continues, more thinking, and Jaskier squeezes his hand in encouragement. “But sometimes when there’s been a disagreement, or a fight, he…. He does too much.”

Jaskier chews his lip some more while he thinks about that, but finally just has to ask, “Too much?”

Geralt takes a breath. “It’s…. Like he thinks he has to make himself useful, or….”

All of the sudden, it clicks. Jaskier’s stomach sinks, and all of his interactions with Eskel for the past few weeks flash before his mind’s eye, suddenly tainted with the realization that Eskel has been doing it not just because he does it, but because he thinks he has to _earn_ Jaskier’s love. That he hasn’t earned it already.

“Or he’ll lose us,” Jaskier finishes, swallowing down the abrupt nausea that saying it out loud brings him.

“Yes,” Geralt confirms, softly. His eyes are wide and worried, and Jaskier wonders if it’s Eskel he’s worried about or Jaskier. He hopes it’s Eskel; he doesn’t much feel like he should be the target of any concern, right now.

“I didn’t know,” he says, and he hates how small his voice is. “I – I just thought….”

Geralt opens his mouth as if to speak, but then closes it again. He turns his head, clearly focused on something Jaskier can’t sense, but when he turns back, he looks almost urgent. He squeezes Jaskier’s hand but untangles their fingers.

“He’s still awake,” he murmurs. “Go.”

Jaskier doesn’t have to be told twice. He scrambles out of the bed and throws some clothes on – a pair of breeches of questionable cleanliness and one of Geralt’s tunics – as well as some boots and rushes out into the hallway toward Eskel’s bedroom.

Halfway there, he forces himself to stop and calm down. Bursting in as if he’s being chased will hardly do anything to calm Eskel’s nerves, and making the Witcher worry about him and cater to his panic is the exact opposite of what Jaskier needs to do right now.

He calms his breathing and schools his expression, then waits for his pulse to go back down to respectable resting levels before continuing. The door to Eskel’s room opens just as he’s about to knock, and both he and Eskel stand there shocked for a split second.

“Jaskier,” Eskel murmurs. “I was just about to go for a bath. Do you need something?”

Jaskier resists the ridiculous urge to sob and shakes his head. “I was just….” He stops. He doesn’t know what excuse he was going to use, but he realizes he doesn’t really want to make one up. He also doesn’t want to blurt out the exact reason why he’s at Eskel’s bedroom door after they’d all agreed to go to bed. “May I join you?”

Eskel blinks, clearly shocked. Jaskier just looks at him, hoping his expression is more earnest than anxious, and waits. Finally, the Witcher nods.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Shall we, then?”

Jaskier almost jumps, as if he’d been prodded in a sensitive spot, but manages to cover the movement by sweeping his arm to the side, overdramatic. If Eskel notices, he doesn’t say anything. “Lead the way, dear Witcher.”

Eskel looks at him for a moment more, but side steps out of his bedroom and does just that.

Jaskier hopes staying behind Eskel will keep the Witcher from smelling his unease.

* * *

They’re silent all the way down to the baths (housed in natural cavern below the castle with a hot spring), and while haul the water to the tub basin.

Finally, Jaskier can’t take any more of the oppressive silence or his own guilt, so he just lets his thoughts come out of his mouth in a rush. “You know you don’t have to do anything for me to earn my love, right?”

Eskel freezes, but doesn’t turn to look at him. Jaskier swallows the panic and nausea both and forges on. “You don’t have to _earn_ anything, Eskel. I don’t need – _you_ don’t need to…to prove anything. I already love you.”

The silence returns, only broken by the sound of Eskel continuing to mechanically fill the tub, until it’s full and he no longer has it to distract from Jaskier’s words.

Jaskier swallows again, clearing his throat, and says, a little timidly, “Can I wash your hair?”

Eskel _flinches_ , and Jaskier is about to take it back, about to say – something, anything; he doesn’t know, but he wants to _fix_ this, fix the fact that he didn’t notice how Eskel was suffering, fix the suffering, too. But then Eskel turns to face him, his jaw set and eyes determined. In two strides, he’s cross the cavern to stand right in front of Jaskier, and the kiss he plants on him is half-passion, half-desperation.

Jaskier kisses back, just as determined as Eskel is, but for vastly different reasons. He wraps one arm around the Witcher’s broad shoulders and slides his other palm across Eskel’s cheek, caressing the scars and cupping his jaw as if it’s the most precious thing he’s ever held.

It’s definitely on the list.

“Yes,” Eskel murmurs against his lips when he pulls back. “You can wash my hair.”

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut to stop the ill-timed tears and whispers, “Thank you.”

They part slowly, but Eskel undresses quickly. Jaskier knows he’s hurrying to get into the bath, to hide from Jaskier; it stings, a little, but he’s not going to bring that up. Not when he’s been so blind for so long, and has so much to make up for.

Jaskier undresses, as well, then grabs the soap, a cup, and a stool and settles at the head of the tub. Eskel is tense, barely even breathing – while Jaskier prepared, the water settled, and now it’s almost entirely still around the Witcher’s body. His heart breaks a little more.

“Relax,” he murmurs, a plea as much as it’s an order. Eskel sucks in a deep, sudden breath, and doesn’t let it out for nearly half a minute. But when he does let it out, the tension mostly goes with it. He slumps back into the tub, and the water begins to move in slow waves along with the rise and fall of his chest.

“Thank you,” Jaskier repeats. “Tip your head back.”

Eskel obeys, sitting a little forward as he does without prompting. Jaskier uses the cup to pour water over his hair, careful to keep it from his eyes, then wets his hands to work the soap into a lather.

Slowly, as he scrubs the soap into Eskel’s hair, they both start to relax. Eskel slowly sinks back, until his neck is at the edge of the tub and his head is nearly in Jaskier’s lap. There’s water and soap all over his hips and thighs, but he’s not terribly fussed. Jaskier makes sure that every single strand of hair has been attended to before he pushes lightly to get Eskel to sit up again, then rinses his hair out. He settles his hands on Eskel’s shoulders once he’s finished and begins to rub, just gentle, basic touch.

The silence between them isn’t as heavy, anymore, but Jaskier still doesn’t like it. So, true to form, he starts to talk.

But instead of idle chatter, or songs, or any of the usual things he rambles about to fill silences, he talks about Eskel.

“You know, I always knew I’d like you, before we met,” he starts. There’s no real direction to his thoughts or his words. “When Geralt tells stories about you – the few he’ll tell – he…changes. I could always tell how much he cares for you, and I thought if he loves you that much, then of course I would love you, too.”

Eskel makes a quiet, broken sound, but when Jaskier looks at him, he’s got his eyes closed and he’s…not quite smiling, but there’s a certain peace to the expression. So Jaskier keeps going.

“Of course, the first time we met was so brief, barely a proper introduction – being accosted by knights with a grudge will do that, I suppose.” Jaskier chuckles a little at the memory. “But I was right. I liked you immediately. And then, in Montecalvo….” He pauses to swallow back the instinct to move to something lewd, to joke. “You’re so strong, Eskel,” he murmurs, and it might be the truest thing he’s said this week.

“What?” Eskel asks, as if he doesn’t understand. His eyes are still closed, but that peaceful look has morphed into a small furrow between his brow. Not quite a frown, exactly like the previous expression wasn’t quite a smile. Jaskier is finding that while he’d thought just Geralt existed in between most labels, Eskel is just like him in that regard.

“You were hurt,” Jaskier reminds. “Badly, and those – those _bastards_ ,” he’s actually keeping his real thoughts to himself, for once, “tried to kick you out. Tried to get me to do their dirty work for them.”

“It’s normal,” Eskel murmurs, though he sounds…disappointed, almost.

Jaskier allows himself to grit his teeth for a moment, but then takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm. “I know that,” he says. “It shouldn’t be. But that’s not my point, Eskel.”

“What is?”

“You’re _strong,_ ” Jaskier repeats. He moves his gentle rubbing from Eskel’s shoulders to his neck, the tendons along the side of his throat. It’s a vast show of trust that Eskel tips his head back, gives Jaskier more access, instead of pulling away. “You survived long enough to get back to the inn, bleeding badly, and you were hardly knocking on Death’s door when I arrived.”

“I was closer than you think,” Eskel whispers, and Jaskier’s heart _aches_.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It took a lot to get as far as you did, and you still had enough to let me help you.”

There’s that quiet, broken sound again. Jaskier swallows and changes course, just a little. He keeps one hand on Eskel’s neck, but slowly moves the other up. Along the Witcher’s neck, over his jaw. Slowly, broadcasting his intentions, he drags light fingertips across the scars, following them from his chin to his temple and back down. Eskel takes a slow, shuddering breath, but he doesn’t protest, and he doesn’t pull away.

“I had to remind myself to be professional,” Jaskier admits, sheepishness crawling into his tone unbidden. “When you were shirtless, before I cleaned the wound and stitched it up. I was immediately attracted to you, Eskel, and not just because of your body alone. And not in spite of the scars.”

“I noticed you looking,” Eskel says softly. “Then, and…after. I notice you looking now, sometimes.”

“I look at you much more than sometimes,” Jaskier corrects. There’s silence for a moment, as heavy as before but for a much different reason. “May I join you?” he asks, again, pointed this time.

Eskel shivers, but sits up a little. “Yeah,” he says. He turns, as if he’s expecting Jaskier to stand and circle the tub, but Jaskier shakes his head.

“Move forward?” he asks. Eskel quirks a brow, but does as he’s asked, shifting and leaning forward. Jaskier climbs a little awkwardly into the tub behind him.

With a little maneuvering, he gets his legs on either side of Eskel’s hips and his arms around Eskel’s chest. Slowly, he leans back, pulling Eskel along, until he’s propped against the back of the tub and Eskel is propped against his chest.

The Witcher shivers again, but relaxes easily into the embrace. Jaskier trails kisses from his ear to his shoulder and back up, little, chaste things, and revels in the way that Eskel sighs and relaxes even further into him.

“I love all of the little things you do for me,” he murmurs between kisses. “I love that you noticed how I like soft-boiled eggs. I love that you keep putting inkpots and pens in the communal areas for when I forget mine.”

Eskel sucks in a breath, and Jaskier chuckles softly. “Yeah, I knew that was you.”

A beat, and when Eskel doesn’t speak, Jaskier continues. “I love that you pay attention to what I say, that you help me with lyrics, that you mention the little things I’ve brought up before. I love that you’re constantly paying attention to me, that you bring me blankets or stoke the fires when I shiver, or bring me little snacks when I get too wrapped up in reading or composing. But,” Jaskier takes a fortifying breath, nuzzling into the space beneath Eskel’s ear as he continues, “even if you didn’t do any of that, I would still love you.”

Eskel just breaths, a little shaky, and Jaskier tacks on, “After all, I still love Lambert, don’t I?”

That makes Eskel laugh. Jaskier breathes a small sigh of relief and resumes his path of kisses, gratified when Eskel tips his head back onto his shoulder to offer more room.

“I’m sorry,” Eskel mumbles after a moment.

“Why?”

“Because I doubted you.” It’s barely a whisper. “And you noticed.”

Jaskier shakes his head. He follows his path back up, but instead of tracing back down again, he detours to press the same small, chaste kisses to Eskel’s temple, his cheek, the little upturn in his lip where the scarring pulls it back.

“Don’t worry about it,” he whispers, right against that spot. “I forgot to mention something else I love.”

“Yeah?” Eskel breathes. His lips barely move, as if he’s afraid if he moves, Jaskier will leave.

He’s not going anywhere anytime soon, but Eskel will figure that out soon enough, he thinks.

“I love your smile.” Jaskier presses another kiss to that little spot, a little firmer. Pointed. “How unique it is, how it lights up your whole face.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Eskel exhales, and then he’s moving. Graceful as ever, despite the water he sends in a wave to the cavern floor, he turns around in Jaskier’s arms, kneeling easily between his thighs. The kiss starts out soft, exploring, but quickly transforms into something else entirely. Jaskier reaches up to cup Eskel’s face, thumb rubbing softly over the scars, and Eskel outright _whines_ into his mouth.

“Please,” Eskel whispers when the kiss breaks. Jaskier doesn’t let him go far, still running his thumb rhythmically across the scars, memorizing their texture.

“Please what?” he whispers back.

Eskel makes a weak sound and kisses him again, wet hands coming up to tangle in Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier tips his head, lets the Witcher ravage his mouth to his heart’s content. He never takes his hands away from Eskel’s face.

When the second kiss breaks, Jaskier is panting despite himself. Eskel is, too, though he catches his breath much quicker. He shifts out of Jaskier’s hands, but only goes as far as his throat, burying his face into the curve between Jaskier’s neck and shoulder.

“Say it again,” he mumbles. His lips moving over Jaskier’s neck send a tingle down his spine.

Jaskier runs his hands through his hair, down his neck and across his shoulders, mapping out the tough skin scattered with smooth, raised scars. Eskel shudders in his hold but presses closer, arching his back into the touch.

“Which part? That I love your smile? That I love you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Eskel hisses, and his body sort of jolts, putting a mere inch of distance between them for just a moment; Jaskier looks down to see that Eskel is hard, cock bobbing with the movement of the water between them. He slides a hand down Eskel’s back, to the base of his spine, and pulls him forward.

They can’t get as close as Jaskier would like to, not here, with so little space and such an odd position, but that’s hardly going to stop him from trying to get as close as he possibly can. At the same time his lowered hand is pulling Eskel’s body in, he uses his other hand to pull Eskel’s head up, to bring him back into a searing kiss. The Witcher all but collapses into him, following each push and pull as if he’s of no more substance than the water sloshing around them.

“Gods, I love you,” Jaskier gasps, breaking the kiss. Eskel is panting above him, eyes wide and bright, mouth dropped open, and Jaskier wishes that he had chosen painting instead of music, just so he could capture this on canvas. “Look at you.”

“What is it?”

“I just – ” Jaskier has to pause to lean forward and nip at the jumping pulse he can see in Eskel’s throat, too overwhelmed by the trembling anticipation in the Witcher’s gaze, “ – you’re _stunning_ , you always are, but right now – gods above, Eskel, you’re beautiful.”

Eskel makes a weak, shattered sound, and his hands turn into vices where they’re gripping Jaskier’s shoulders. His hips jerk in Jaskier’s hand once, twice, and with a jolt that makes Jaskier feel as if he’s freefalling, he realizes that Eskel is _coming._

In the bath, practically in Jaskier’s lap, just because Jaskier called him beautiful.

Jaskier feels like he might actually melt from the heat of it, despite the water going quickly cold around him.

He pulls Eskel down, presses his face into his own throat and hums, gentling him through it with nonsense words and light touches along his neck and shoulders. It takes a long time for the Witcher to stop shaking, for him to let go of the death grip he has on Jaskier’s shoulders.

“I – I want – ” he rambles, still clearly keyed up, and Jaskier hushes him.

“Shh, I know. Breathe,” he murmurs, pressing each word into Eskel’s skin with a kiss. “Not here. Shhh. Breathe for me, love.”

Eskel does. Slowly, Jaskier can feel the remaining manic energy drain out of him. Then, and only then, does he let Eskel pull back, though he keeps his arms around the Witcher’s neck.

“What do you want?” Jaskier asks softly.

Eskel chews his lip for a moment before ducking his head, just a little. Jaskier lets him. It takes a few minutes, but Eskel finally whispers, “A bed,” and then, after another long moment of anxious silence, “I want…I want you to – to make love to me.”

Jaskier is, as a rule, incredibly protective of the people he loves. It’s his trademark trait, aside from being known as professor, bard, and, well, nuisance. He protects and serves the people he loves the best he can. But here and now, with Eskel in his arms in cooling water sullied by the Witcher’s cum, he realizes something very, very important.

He would set fire to entire kingdoms, no questions asked, if Eskel requested it of him.

It’s a terrifying thought, if he’s honest with himself. One that he’ll be thinking over – and possibly discussing with Geralt – later. Much, much later. For right now, he has a Witcher to take care of.

“My love,” he murmurs. “That sounds exquisite.”

* * *

They fumble themselves out of the tub and dry. Jaskier dresses – mostly, his breeches don’t end up tied and Geralt’s tunic is both backwards and slipping off one shoulder – while Eskel empties the tub, and then, once Eskel is also mostly dressed, they stumble as one back to his bedroom. It takes much longer than it should to get there, of course, because Jaskier keeps stopping to pin Eskel to the cold stone walls and kiss him.

Eskel doesn’t seem to mind, and Jaskier is definitely not sorry.

But they do, eventually, make it back to Eskel’s bedroom. Usually, Jaskier would be trying to take the room in, to make more conclusions about Eskel’s character based on the room, but for once in his life, he’s much too busy to multitask.

Between the baths and here, where he’s got Eskel pressed against the wall just to the side of his bed, he’s discovered a wonderful new thing. There’s a spot on Eskel’s collar, the dip before the rise of the bone under the skin, that when Jaskier bites down just shy of too hard, makes Eskel’s knees weak. The Witcher also makes a wonderful, broken noise that Jaskier would very much like to be able to hear on repeat for the rest of his life.

Of course, Jaskier hasn’t properly stopped talking since they left the baths. He’s not suddenly become someone else, after all.

“Fucking gorgeous, Eskel, yes – gods, the sounds you make,” he rumbles. Eskel whines, and clings just a little bit tighter to his neck. “I’m never going to let you go, Witcher, I hope you know that. Oh, love. We need oil.”

He guides Eskel down to the bed, until the Witcher is sprawled across it. Somewhere between the door and here they both managed to lose their clothes again. Jaskier was much more interested in making Eskel whimper than paying attention to how it happened.

“It’s – ” Eskel squirms around for a second, grasping underneath the pillows and then further. When he pulls his hand back, he has a bottle of oil clutched triumphantly in his palm.

Jaskier leans over him to take it, pressing kisses against every bit of skin his mouth passes, chest, shoulder, throat, chin, wrist. “Good,” he murmurs, once he’s taken it. He takes note of the way it makes Eskel shiver to hear the word. It’s easy to climb up onto the bed, to shove himself between the Witcher’s legs, already spread.

He spreads out on top of Eskel, letting his weight rest on the Witcher, knowing he can take it. Eskel makes a soft, pleased noise, and tips his head up to catch Jaskier’s lips again. Jaskier returns the kiss.

For a long few moments, he loses time. The bottle of oil gets dropped to Eskel’s side in favor of grasping at his hair and face, and the kiss turns filthy, the only sound between them the slick smack of their lips and tongues and Eskel’s breathy whimpers when they have to part so Jaskier can breathe. By the time Jaskier pulls back for real, fishing for the oil once more, his lips are tingling and swollen, and Eskel’s are the same.

He looks like a vision straight out of Jaskier’s wet dreams, and he tells him so. “You look so godsdamned good,” he says, slicking his fingers as he sits back on his knees. Eskel’s trembling lightly, but only lifts his knees to expose himself when he sees. “Spread out for me – fuck, Eskel. _Look_ at you. So beautiful.”

Jaskier doesn’t miss the way the Witcher’s cock twitches at that, and heat flares in his belly. Despite the urgency pounding in his blood, he’d determined to go slowly. Eskel had said _make love_ , and that’s absolutely something Jaskier can do.

He spends endless minutes just teasing, fingers pressing against Eskel’s hole but never inside, not until Eskel gasps out a frantic, “ _Please,_ Jaskier,” and even then, he moves little by little. Up to the first knuckle and then back out, a few more times before he keeps going to the second. The process repeats until he has a single finger buried to the hilt inside the Witcher, and Eskel is nearly sobbing.

“Jaskier,” he gasps, “don’t – don’t _stop_ , please, keep – keep going, keep _talking._ ”

“Of course, love,” Jaskier murmurs. He fucks Eskel with just that one finger for a few long moments, rambling all the while. “You’re so handsome. Absolutely lovely, giving me more than I could have ever asked for. Above and beyond, like always.”

Eskel whines, and his hips jerk up at the same time his cock twitches violently toward Jaskier. He takes it as the cue it is and starts in with his second finger, moving just as glacially with it as the first, until Eskel is nearly sobbing.

Jaskier pressed both fingers inside and leans up, nuzzling against Eskel’s face where it’s warm – not red, because he can’t go red, but the warmth has remained, the mutations unable to take all of the blush away. “Are you alright, Eskel?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Eskel does sob, now, turning his face to clumsily kiss Jaskier, coordination shot. A swell of pride nearly knocks Jaskier straight over. “Jaskier, I – oh, I want you, I want to cum again.”

“Absolutely,” Jaskier agrees. He leaves Eskel with one last peck before ducking down and licking a stripe up the side of his cock. He moves his fingers at the same time, gratified by the way Eskel shouts and starts to tremble again. From there, it’s easy to take the Witcher into his mouth, to swallow him down while he opens him up. One of Eskel’s hands twists into his hair, and he makes an approving noise that makes Eskel shake even harder. He grip on his hair tightens, and Jaskier can’t help the way his eyes roll or the quicker thrust of his fingers.

Eskel approves, if the shuddering keen he lets out is to be trusted.

Jaskier hollows his cheeks and adds a third finger, a little faster than before. Eskel tips his hips up, a clear invitation to continue, and Jaskier lets the movement push him a little further onto the Witcher’s cock. It’s easy, once he had the third finger all the way in, to stiffen his wrist and curl his fingers right into that spot. Eskel cries out and his hips roll, pressing down onto Jaskier’s fingers and then up, into his mouth. Jaskier rocks with the movement and hums out a consenting sound. When he strains his eyes upward, Eskel is looking down at him, jaw gone slack and eyes wide, yellow-gold swallowed up by pupil.

It’s becoming one of Jaskier’s favorite sights, that.

Almost as if he’s testing it, Eskel rolls his hips again. Jaskier’s eyes roll and he groans, still rocking along with the movement easily. “ _Oh_ ,” Eskel breathes, and Jaskier would smirk if his mouth weren’t full.

Eskel pets through his hair. “May I?” he asks, as if he hasn’t already figured it out. In answer, Jaskier scrubs his fingertips almost harshly over his prostate; the sudden spike of pleasure forces Eskel to thrust, and Jaskier just moans. Judging by the second hand in his hair, Eskel gets the hint.

“Oh, fuck,” the Witcher pants. “Jaskier, you’re – so good, so – you look – _fuck_.”

Jaskier hums and lets himself get lost in being used, in being useful. Eskel’s words quickly turn into nonsense, just sounds strung together haphazardly, until finally he whines, “ _Close_ ,” in warning. Jaskier adjusts the angle of his head, just a little, letting Eskel push just that little bit deeper, threatening his throat, and the Witcher comes.

It’s hard, with the angle, and the focus it takes to swallow, to watch Eskel. But Jaskier does his best anyhow. Eskel’s face tenses, looking almost like he does when he’s angry, but then relaxes all of the sudden, mouth going slack and forehead smoothing. His eyes flutter in time with the pulses of his orgasm.

Little by little, Jaskier slows and then stills and removes his fingers. Once Eskel has stopped twitching, he pulls back from his cock, leaving a little kiss to the head as he goes. The contact makes Eskel twitch.

“You’re so good for me, love,” Jaskier murmurs, and watches the way the praise rolls through Eskel like a wave. From his neck arching to his back and then his legs, coming up to surround Jaskier’s waist.

“Please,” Eskel manages, after a moment of silence. Jaskier just hums an acknowledgement, busy trying to find the oil again. “I want – can we – ”

“I would give you absolutely anything you asked for,” Jaskier murmurs, finally digging the oil out from the sheets. 

Eskel sucks in a breath and his eyes fly open. Jaskier leans down to press a kiss to the upturn in his lip, and his eyes fall shut again. “Just – ” he starts, then pauses. “I want – like this.”

He moves his leg, turning as he does until he’s on his side. “Behind me?” he asks, quiet and almost tentative.

“Yes.” Jaskier slots in behind him easily, pushing on arm under his shoulders and dragging the other down his side to his thigh. A light touch to the back of it gets him to lift it up again. “Good. Gods, somehow you look even better like this.” Jaskier ducks down to suck at the straining tendon in Eskel’s neck.

“Please,” Eskel breathes.

“Of course.” Jaskier slicks his cock and shifts his hips until he finds the right angle. It’s stunningly easy to push forward, to sink inside Eskel’s body like it was made for him, and his heart skips several beats. “ _Eskel_.”

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Eskel whimpers back, hips tilting back and forcing Jaskier just a little deeper.

He turns his head and their lips meet in a sloppy kiss. The angle is awful. Jaskier could not give any less of a fuck. He drags his mouth, wet and open, over the rough of Eskel’s cheek, tongue tracing the marks from his lip to just under his eye before he reaches up to turn Eskel’s head forward again. His mouth drags across the Witcher’s ear.

“I love you so much, Eskel,” he whispers, voice creaking as he starts to move. The heat between them is near unbearable, but he just wants more, wants the Witcher closer. He moves his hand from Eskel’s chin to the center of his hips, feeling the way his cock is already twitching back to life. “So beautiful, so absolutely magnificent. Fuck, you feel so good around me, in my arms – _Eskel._ ” It’s impossible to resist a slightly harder thrust when the Witcher groans and clenches down on Jaskier’s cock. Eskel just whimpers and does it again, and suddenly, Jaskier can’t do agonizingly slow anymore.

His pace picks up, but only just. Eskel’s hand clamps down on his wrist, and he throws his head back to rest on Jaskier’s shoulder. Small sounds are pouring from his mouth, mixed with Jaskier’s name and swears, and Jaskier feels the way he rapidly hardens against the back of his hand.

“I want you to come again,” Jaskier whispers, pressing the words right against the Witcher’s throat. “I want to see you fall apart, Eskel, you’ll be so pretty when you do.”

Eskel’s sounds suddenly halt as he sucks in nearly wheezing breaths. His fingers scrabble against Jaskier’s wrist and the back of his hand. “Touch me, please,” he begs, and Jaskier is not going to deny him. Luckily, his hand is still slick from the oil, though he supposes with how much Eskel is dripping, it might not matter. The first stroke makes Eskel shudder wildly in his arms. “Ye – _es,_ ” he gasps out.

The Witcher is caught, held tightly in Jaskier’s arms and hands and impaled on his cock, unsure which sensation to press into. Jaskier doesn’t let him make the decision, instead timing his strokes with his hips, until Eskel is mindless, whimpering and whining and writhing in his arms. But never away, no, he’s trying so hard to press closer, as if he could crawl into Jaskier’s skin.

Jaskier would let him, if he could figure out how.

For the first time tonight, Jaskier has fallen silent, concentrating on pulling Eskel apart piece by piece. When the Witcher whimpers out his name and goes rigid in his arms, though, he nibbles on his earlobe and whispers, “Go on, be a good boy, come all over me. I want it.”

It takes three more thrusts and Eskel does exactly as he’s told, letting out an echoing scream and shattering apart in Jaskier’s arms. Jaskier pulls him through it, whispering encouragement and praise in his ear all the while, staving off his own orgasm just so he can watch all of Eskel’s. When the Witcher has stopped shuddering, he moves to pull out, but a hand thrown backwards snags his hips.

“No,” Eskel says, voice rough. “Mark me yours, Jaskier.”

He’s helpless against that. His orgasm overtakes him barely fifteen seconds later, all white noise and tingling pleasure. He comes back to consciousness to find he’s still pressed inside Eskel, the Witcher humming a little tune – one of Jaskier’s. His heart swells to bursting, and he uses the arm he has draped across Eskel’s waist to squeeze him, a too-tight hug.

Eskel doesn’t protest. Instead, just sighs out a soft, content sound, and murmurs, “Thank you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier nuzzles into the hair at the nape of his neck and murmurs, “I love you, Eskel,” back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets his Witchers to share a little more literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeet! more filth. love it for us.
> 
> this is the last of what i'm posting today! i'll be back up in the woods for a few days, but i'll reply to any comments when i get back.

“You smell like Eskel.”

Geralt’s nose is buried at the base of Jaskier’s throat, just as tightly pressed as the rest of their bodies.

“Hm, yes, I would,” Jaskier murmurs, shifting until the tightening of Geralt’s arms stops him. “I had planned to spend today brushing up on some technical aspects of lute playing, but your brother can be terribly convincing.”

“Oh?”

Jaskier chuckles and tips his head back to allow room for Geralt’s suddenly questing mouth. “Oh yes. Very persuasive, that one.”

“It’s all over you,” Geralt murmurs, in between nipping kisses along the tendon of Jaskier’s neck.

“Yes, well, that makes a certain kind of sense, since _he_ was all over me,” Jaskier replies, arching into the contact.

A sound, sort of a mix of one of Geralt’s usual pleased hums and a possessive growl, vibrates against the thin skin over his pulse point. He makes a responding noise, more of a moan, and Geralt sets to placing a vivid hickey on the spot.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jaskier gasps. “Not just Eskel who’s convincing, then.”

Geralt chuckles but fixes back onto the hickey quickly. Jaskier just grunts and rides the edge of it, pain blurring into pleasure as Geralt’s teeth sink into his flesh; a claiming bite if Jaskier’s ever felt one, and he _definitely_ has. Each of his Wolves seem to find great pleasure in leaving dark, teeth-marked bruises on him for their brothers to find later. Like a game.

Probably the most fun game Jaskier’s ever been a part of. “ _Fuck,_ Geralt, I can’t quite tell if you like smelling Eskel on me or not.” It’s a lie; he knows damn well that Geralt loves it. They all do – Jaskier’s not really sure if it’s because of the air of competition, or if it has something to do with their rather obvious pack instinct, but it doesn’t really matter either way.

“Mm,” Geralt rumbles, “I do. Like it better when you smell like both of us, though.”

“Oh?” Jaskier grunts as Geralt’s teeth dig into another space on his throat. “No reason the sharing can’t be more literal, in that case, love.”

Geralt freezes. Jaskier’s pulse suddenly drops, then speeds up, a flood of anxiety hitting his system.

“What?” Geralt asks, low.

Jaskier pulls back, just a little. Enough to see his Witcher’s face, at least, even in the dim lighting. It takes him a second to parse the look on Geralt’s face; where he was expecting anger, or maybe confusion, even embarrassment, Geralt looks…panicked?

What on _Earth_ would Geralt have to be panicked about right now?

“I – just thought…. If you like the smell of both of you on me so much, there’s a better way to get it than to be constantly trading me between you.” Jaskier realizes that makes him sound like some sort of object, but he knows Geralt and Eskel and Lambert don’t see it that way. He doesn’t, either; it’s just kind of hard to explain how he bounces between the three of them – and their beds – without making it sound a bit like he’s a whore. “I understand if you’re not interested in that, of course, it was just a passing thought – ”

“I never said I wasn’t interested,” Geralt mumbles, and _oh._ Okay. Jaskier understands now.

“You didn’t think _I_ would be,” he determines. “Well. I don’t know _why_ you thought I wouldn’t be, honestly. You’ve met me, after all.”

Geralt huffs. “All three of us separately must be exhausting,” he mutters. “Two together would be….”

“A _fantastic_ time,” Jaskier finishes for him. “Really. You act like you haven’t worn me down to complete overstimulation by yourself and seen _clearly_ how much I enjoy it. Two of you would just mean more of my favorite thing.”

“Which favorite thing?”

“Well, to be crass,” Jaskier can’t help but snigger even as he says it, “fucking Witchers.”

Even Geralt, the known king of stoicism, laughs out loud at that.

* * *

In the end, it’s not planned.

Eskel has snagged Jaskier into an almost secluded corner of the library, unusually desperate for touch. Jaskier is accommodating, of course. He presses Eskel into the shelves behind him and revels in the way the Witcher immediately submits to it, the wavering moan he gives as Jaskier kisses over his scars.

They can’t let it get too far here. Vesemir will have their heads if he finds any untoward stains on the books or carpet. But before Jaskier can suggest going somewhere else, there’s suddenly a presence at his back.

“Geralt,” he breathes, and tips his head back against the other Witcher’s shoulder.

Eskel has gone a little wide-eyed. “Uh….”

Geralt shifts forward, pressing Jaskier tighter between them and Eskel further against the shelves. “Room for one more?” he asks, voice low and husky.

“I think so,” Jaskier murmurs. “Eskel?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Eskel breathes. “Yes. Yes, definitely.”

“Good,” Geralt tips his head a little and presses a kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s jaw. “Not here, though.”

He grabs Jaskier around the hips and pulls him back, not quite forcefully but close. Jaskier just sees him grab Eskel’s hand out of the corner of his eye before he’s begin shuffled forward again, out of the library and in the direction of a bedroom.

Eskel’s, as it turns out. Jaskier has just enough time to recognize that before he’s being pinned between the two of them again. They’re arranged same way as they were in the library; Eskel against the wall, Jaskier in front of him, Geralt pressing both of them closer.

He wastes no time in kissing Eskel, one hand cupping his cheek and the other buried in his hair. Geralt busies himself undressing them.

“Beautiful,” Jaskier murmurs when the kiss breaks so Geralt can rid him of his doublet and undershirt. Eskel makes a very pretty sound and quickly shoves out of his own tunic before yanking Jaskier back into another kiss.

“He’s right, you know,” Geralt murmurs, clearly directed at Eskel despite the words being pressed just behind Jaskier’s ear.

And _oh,_ Jaskier’s assumptions about this tryst shift very suddenly in a new direction, and he’s _thrilled_.

“Damn straight I am,” Jaskier purrs. He leans forward to press a kiss to the uptick in Eskel’s lip, then dragging his tongue along the scar that makes it. It’s something he’s discovered makes Eskel practically melt into his arms, and now is no different.

In fact, he thinks the effect might be more pronounced because Eskel is looking over Jaskier’s shoulder, into Geralt’s eyes, when he does it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eskel hisses, and his hips jerk almost violently.

“Was the plan,” Geralt murmurs. “Jaskier?”

“I am onboard for absolutely anything, my dear,” Jaskier replies, sliding his hands down Eskel’s chest to unlace his breeches. Behind him, Geralt does the same to Jaskier’s.

Jaskier steps out of his breeches and smallclothes as he shoves Eskel’s over his hips. He tips his head back onto Geralt’s shoulder and accepts the badly angled kiss he gets. “Why are you still dressed?” he asks.

“I wanted to watch you two, for a bit,” Geralt murmurs.

Eskel _whimpers_ at that, and Jaskier just has to kiss him. He leads with a nip to Eskel’s lip, and the Witcher shivers under his hands. “Please,” he whispers into Jaskier’s mouth.

“Please what?”

“Touch me.” Eskel catches Jaskier’s wrists and pushes his hands down, so they drag across his chest and his stomach.

“I am,” Jaskier teases, but follows the push. He presses his fingertips into a sensitive scar just under Eskel’s ribs just to hear the weak noise he makes. Behind him, Geralt growls at the sound. Still caressing along Eskel’s chest and stomach, Jaskier tips his head back again with a smirk.

“You said you wanted to watch,” he murmurs. “Sit and watch, then.”

Geralt grunts as if he’s been hit and kisses Jaskier, deep and almost savage. “Yes, sir,” he whispers when the kiss breaks, and Jaskier jerks as if _he’s_ been struck.

“I will deal with you in a moment,” Jaskier promises darkly, and uses his shoulder to shove Geralt back before turning all of his attention back to Eskel.

“Do you like that?” Eskel asks, and Jaskier raises a brow. “Being called _sir_?”

Jaskier grins. “Do you want to call me sir?”

Eskel’s eyes flutter as Jaskier drags his fingertips across his hips. “I’m not averse,” he murmurs.

Jaskier hums and wraps a light fist around Eskel’s cock. It twitches almost violently in his palm. “Later,” he says. “For now….” He gives one small stroke, shuddering when Eskel reacts with his whole body. “Gods, Eskel. Too fucking pretty for your own good.”

He flicks a glance over to Geralt, who has found a nearby chair to collapse into. He’s chewing his lip swollen and staring at Eskel as if he’s the sunrise.

Jaskier knows the feeling.

“Jaskier,” Eskel whines. “ _Please._ ”

“Anything you want, love,” Jaskier answers.

“Need you inside me,” Eskel begs. One of his hands pushes into Jaskier’s hair and pulls him into a messy kiss, that Jaskier returns with enthusiasm.

“Bed, then,” Jaskier husks when the kiss finally breaks. He doesn’t miss the way Geralt sucks in a breath, anticipatory, and he throws the other Witcher a wink as he and Eskel stumble over to the bed.

He knows by now where the oil is. He fishes it out with one hand while he uses the other to press Eskel down into the bed.

“I have an idea,” he murmurs, right into Eskel’s ear, once the Witcher is spread underneath him like an offering. He slides a hand down Eskel’s thigh and lifts it, pressing him open with his own body.

“What?” Eskel’s voice is breathy, almost absent, as if he’s not paying attention. He is, though; Jaskier has heard the tone enough times to know very well.

“Geralt says he wants to watch,” Jaskier says, and Eskel nods at the same time Geralt makes an encouraging noise, “and I very much want to show you off.” He catches the shattered moan Eskel lets out with his lips, letting the Witcher express his manic desperation with an unrestrained kiss.

“Yes,” Eskel agrees when Jaskier has to pull back to gasp in a breath. “Please.”

Jaskier hums. “So good for me,” he murmurs. “Like this, love.” He uses his grip on Eskel’s thigh to push him onto his side, facing where Geralt is sitting. He catches on immediately, shifting to accommodate Jaskier behind him with a small moan.

One arm goes around Eskel’s shoulders, hand resting across his collar, while the other goes between them, fingers already wet with oil, and presses between Eskel’s cheeks. The Witcher jolts at the touch, but relaxes into it quickly enough, eyes squeezed shut and face turned into the pillows. Jaskier allows it for the time it takes him to work two fingers inside, but once both are knuckle-deep, he stops.

“Eskel, love,” he murmurs. The Witcher hums, an acknowledgement, but doesn’t move. Jaskier pushes the hand on his collar up, cupping his throat until he can wedge his fingers just under Eskel’s jaw. “What are you hiding from?”

He forces Eskel’s head up, using his thumb to turn his head so he can’t shield his scars. Eskel whimpers but doesn’t fight it, instead jerking his hips to ride Jaskier’s fingers where they’re still immobile inside him.

“Open your eyes, darling,” Jaskier whispers into his ear. He’s looking at Geralt as he says it. The other Witcher is wide-eyed, hair a mess where he’s been running his hands through it, and the bulge in his trousers is obscene. “Look what watching you has done to him.”

He could be pushing it. He’s almost positive he’s not, but there’s a small chance, and he waits for Eskel to say no, to turn his head again. Or for Geralt to say something, to head Jaskier’s clear assumptions off and nip it in the bud.

Neither happens. Instead, Eskel opens his eyes and groans at the sight of Geralt in the chair. Geralt makes a low, wanting sound in return. Jaskier presses a grin into Eskel’s throat and goes back to opening him up.

“Gods, you always feel so good, Eskel,” he whispers, licking at the shell of his ear. “Tight and hot. Perfect. I want to be inside you so badly.”

“Then do it,” Eskel hisses, tossing his head back against Jaskier’s shoulder. “ _Fuck,_ Jaskier. I’m already close.”

Jaskier spreads his fingers, then twists his wrist and rubs up and forward with his knuckles. Eskel shudders like a sapling in a storm and comes beautifully, whining all the while. When Jaskier looks up from his face twisted in pleasure, he finds Geralt halfway out of his chair, knuckles white on the arms.

“Well?” he chides. “C’mon. Get naked and get over here.”

Eskel whimpers and clenches tight on Jaskier’s fingers once more, and Geralt does as he’s told. While Geralt works out of his clothes, Jaskier slicks his cock and presses the head up against Eskel’s hole, a silent question in the pause.

“ _Yes_ ,” Eskel gasps. “Please, fuck, want more.”

“Anything you want, darling,” Jaskier murmurs, and presses forward. He means to go slow, but Eskel reaches back to grab his hips and slams backward at the same time, taking him all in at once. “ _Fuck!_ ”

Eskel’s eyes are rolling and he’s panting. Geralt is stopped, one leg out of his breeches, just staring at him. Once Jaskier regains his faculties, vision a little spotty from the sudden rush of pleasure, he starts to move, and the tension snaps.

Geralt is finished undressing and kneeing onto the bed in what feels like the space of a heartbeat. Jaskier reaches a hand out to him, and when he takes it, leads him right to Eskel’s cock, still hard and wet from his first release.

He pauses with their fingers just brushing the tip of Eskel’s cock. “Alright, love?” he asks, and Eskel answers with a pitchy moan and a jerk of his hips, forcing his cock between their fingers. Jaskier thinks that’s answer enough, and moves his hand to let Geralt grasp at Eskel’s cock. Geralt does so, then leans forward and catches Jaskier’s mouth in a searching kiss.

“ _Gods_ ,” Eskel whimpers between them. “ _More_ , want _more_.”

“What do you want, beautiful?” Jaskier asks once the kiss breaks. He’s momentarily distracted by the way Eskel’s muscles flex when he pushes back, closer to Jaskier, and adds, “So fucking gorgeous, Witcher, look at you move.”

Eskel whines. “Geralt,” he pants, “can I – ”

“You can have anything you want, Eskel,” Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier’s stomach swoops. Part of him is proud, because he read this correctly, read _them_ correctly; a larger part is just massively horny about this whole situation, and yet another part of him is glad that he’s not the only one who would do anything and everything for Eskel. “You just have to ask.”

“Want to blow you,” Eskel bursts out in a rush. Jaskier turns to look at him and finds his eyes wide and afraid. Scared of rejection, most likely. Jaskier understands, though he knows very well how unfounded it is.

The low noise Geralt makes in response is proof enough, he thinks, but then the white-haired Witcher follows it with a, “Me first,” and slides down the bed. A bolt of heat goes through Jaskier’s stomach at the sight; Eskel’s cock twitches rather obviously toward Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, and Jaskier nods to show he’s paying attention. “Hold still for a moment.”

Jaskier’s hips slow to a stop, and he has to ignore the bereft noise Eskel makes. “Hush, pretty,” he murmurs, nibbling at Eskel’s jaw. “Just a moment. Can you be good for us, love?”

Eskel sucks in a breath. “Y-yes,” he stammers.

“Good, I knew you could,” Jaskier noses into his hair. “Always so good for me, aren’t you, gorgeous?”

He turns his head back so he can watch Geralt once more, but he keeps his lips pressed close to Eskel’s ear. Geralt winks at them before taking Eskel into his mouth in one smooth slide, clear to the base. Eskel makes a truly beautiful sound and jerks wildly in Jaskier’s arms. He tightens his hold just a bit, still watching Geralt.

After a small eternity, Geralt’s eyes open and look back up at both of them. He winks again and, with a pointed look, taps at Jaskier’s hip.

 _Oh_ , that’s his plan. Jaskier slowly pulls back, Eskel’s hips chasing him, and then shoves forward, forcing Eskel back down Geralt’s throat. If the sheer thought of it was hot enough to melt steel, the reality is even more intense; Jaskier has to squeeze his eyes shut and think of chord progressions to stave off his orgasm.

“ _Geralt_ ,” Eskel whimpers, one of his hands tangling into Geralt’s hair while the other reaches up to tangle in Jaskier’s. “ _Jaskier_.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier hisses. “Not going to last, _gods_.”

Eskel turns his head, searching for a kiss that Jaskier grants easily. He’s still moving his hips, slowly, in and out at a sedate pace. “Harder,” Eskel breathes, and when Jaskier looks down at Geralt, he winks again.

“Fuck,” he repeats, and does as Eskel asks. Geralt chokes a little, but when Jaskier reaches down to touch his temple, waves his hand dismissively. Eskel has gone almost completely incoherent between them, the only clear words either of their names, and Jaskier is dangling so close to the precipice he’s breathless.

“Gonna,” he mutters, and then chokes at the way Eskel clenches down on him. “ _Close_ ,” he hisses instead.

“Fill me up,” Eskel whimpers, the first proper words he’s said in a dozen minutes, and Jaskier is helpless against that. Everything except the wash of heat from his orgasm goes distant for a bit, but he hears Geralt choke again, and then Eskel _screams_.

When he comes back down, Geralt is just sitting up and wiping his mouth. Jaskier catches the sight of creamy white on his tongue before he swallows and _oh_ , if he gets hard too quickly he might pass out. He squeezes his eyes shut and counts through octaves.

Eskel is squirming between them, and Jaskier loosens his hold to let him. The Witcher sits up and without preamble, reaches over to yank Geralt into a vicious kiss. Jaskier watches with his mouth hanging open and cock twitching painfully. When the kiss breaks, Eskel shoves Geralt back, until he lands on his elbows laying the wrong direction on the bed.

“My turn,” Eskel grits out, and sucks the head of Geralt’s cock into his mouth.

Geralt’s head drops back and he groans, low and heartfelt. Jaskier scrambles toward him, wanting to taste the pale skin on display, and Geralt makes that same sound again at the feel of his lips. Eventually, he makes it up to Geralt’s mouth, and they kiss heavily while Eskel bobs his head until he’s nearly to the base of Geralt’s cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Geralt tears his head back to grunt it, breathing hard. Jaskier just goes back to his throat, nipping and sucking at the spots he knows make Geralt shudder. “ _Fuck,_ Eskel. Jaskier.”

Jaskier glances down at Eskel, who has his eyes shut as he hollows his cheeks around Geralt’s cock, and he thinks that this is it. This is the time he’ll just combust, and nothing will be left of him but ashes, because the sight of _that_ makes his blood rush so fast in his ears he’s sure its unhealthy.

“You’re stunning,” Jaskier husks out, reaching forward to tug lightly at Eskel’s hair. The Witcher’s eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide, and he bobs down once more. This time, with a pointed shove and a nasty, wet sound, he manages to get clear to the base. Geralt collapses backward, arms flailing, and Jaskier can tell he’s coming from the sounds he makes.

His eyes are transfixed by the way Eskel’s eyes roll when he chokes, and then the movement of his throat as he swallows compulsively. “ _Fucking_ hell, Eskel, you’re spectacular,” he mutters, cock twitching violently back to life with a sharp pain. Surely, this is where he dies. There’s only so much one man can take, he’s positive.

It takes a long moment for Geralt to finish convulsing, and only once he’s stilled does Eskel pull back and suck in a great, ragged breath. He blinks tears out of his eyes and looks between Jaskier and Geralt a few times before grinning, clearly proud of himself, and Jaskier is absolutely powerless against that. He shoots forward and grabs Eskel, slamming their mouths together to share the taste, and distantly, he hears the broken noise Geralt makes at the sight. It makes the grin still on Eskel’s lips widen.

When they part, Geralt is sitting up again, though he’s still clearly a little shaky. Jaskier turns to kiss him, too, and slowly, the tension seems to wind down between them.

“Gods,” he mutters, right against Geralt’s lips. “That was….”

Geralt chuckles.

“Who said we’re done?” he asks, pulling back to look at Jaskier. His gaze is molten, predatory, and Jaskier bites his lip. When he looks to Eskel, he looks the same.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers, and then they’re both on him.

Geralt slides behind him, and Eskel crawls right up into his lap mouth-first. Jaskier accepts the kiss and the greedy, almost bruising touches, relaxing easily between them. Geralt sets to sucking a series of hickeys into his throat while Eskel ravages his mouth, and he’s still certain that this is where he’ll die, but he can’t say he’d be terribly upset.

Eventually, though, Eskel pulls back and sprawls backward, legs spread wide to accommodate both Jaskier and Geralt between them. He smirks at the little bereft noise Jaskier can’t quite bite back and beckons him forward. Geralt even pushes him forward a little, so Jaskier goes, slotting between Eskel’s legs like he belongs there. The feeling of his cock sliding against Eskel’s abs makes him shiver so hard his vision blurs for a moment.

Eskel pushes his hands through Jaskier’s hair and cups the back of his skull, the touch surprisingly gentle compared to his previous kiss and the smirk on his lips. He uses the hold to pull Jaskier down again, and this time the kiss is slow, but deep and searching. Jaskier can’t help the way he humps forward, grinding his cock against the hardness of Eskel’s stomach.

Geralt shifts behind him, and Jaskier breaks the kiss to turn and look at him. Eskel’s mouth just slides to his jaw, to his neck, where he leaves hickeys to mirror Geralt’s on the other side. Jaskier shudders and his eyes flutter. Geralt is grinning when he holds up the bottle of oil and wiggles it, a clear question in his eyes.

Jaskier’s hips jerk particularly violently against Eskel and he nods. “ _Yes_ ,” he groans, and then Geralt is on him again. He gets pressed mercilessly between them as Geralt stretches over his shoulder to kiss Eskel, and it’s uncomfortable and warm and Jaskier doesn’t want to be anywhere else except right the fuck here. For the next decade, if he’s allowed.

Geralt’s slick fingers find his hole without even breaking from the kiss with Eskel, and Jaskier’s cock throbs dangerously where it’s squished between his body and Eskel’s. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses. “Gods, hurry, want you.”

Eskel and Geralt are both chuckling when they finally pull away from one another, and Jaskier just whimpers pleadingly and pushes his hips back against Geralt’s fingers.

Time seems to stretch on impossibly while Geralt prepares him, and Jaskier is reduced to nothing but squirming and desperate whimpers entirely too quickly. Eskel kisses him again to quiet him, and he accepts the kiss clumsily, lips numb from the rest of them and the burning want in his blood.

Finally, when Geralt seems to be threatening a fourth finger, Jaskier’s patience snaps. “I’m _ready_ ,” he hisses, “fuck, c’mon, get in me.”

Geralt laughs, but Jaskier can hear the slick noises as he coats his cock in oil. Eskel grabs his hips, pushing him so his ass is in the air, practically being presented. Jaskier shudders in the hold and bites his lip bloody to stop himself from coming again.

Jaskier has no idea what he looks or sounds like as Geralt pushes in. He loses all track of himself for a startling moment, vision gone spotty with pleasure. When he can finally see again, Eskel is looking at him with his mouth dropped open.

“What?” he asks, weakly, followed by a shout when Geralt starts to move. “ _Oh!_ ”

“You spend all of your time waxing poetic about how pretty you think I am,” Eskel says, and reaches between them to grasp tightly at Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier whimpers, caught between the sensations of Eskel’s calloused palm and Geralt’s thick cock spearing him open. “I’m definitely not complaining, but _fuck_ , Jaskier, have you ever seen yourself?”

“Eskel is right,” Geralt grunts, right into Jaskier’s ear. “You’re fucking brilliant. Especially when you come.”

Jaskier lets out a noise that’s halfway between a keen and a sob, and as if that statement was an order, comes into Eskel’s hand. Eskel makes an encouraging noise, grip tight and slick and almost too much.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jaskier hisses. “Fuck, Geralt – Eskel – I’m – _oh!_ ” He’s jolted forward as Geralt’s thrusts get harder and faster. He’s pounding mercilessly at Jaskier’s prostate, and every nerve feels as if it’s on fire, tingling spreading through his body until he’s mindless.

He’s not going soft, not as long as Geralt keeps nailing him straight on, and he doesn’t register that he’s crying until he sees the tears strike Eskel’s scars.

“Jaskier?” Eskel asks, grip slackening, but Jaskier just makes a broken noise and shakes his head frantically. This will tip over into pain eventually, probably soon, but right now he’s riding the edge and it’s _transcendent._ Eskel’s grip tightens again and Jaskier sobs, beginning to thrust against his palm again.

He comes again, nearly dry, just as Geralt slams into him for the last time and spills over himself. Below them, Eskel makes a filthy noise, and Jaskier shudders through an aftershock that feels almost more like another separate orgasm.

It takes a long time for Jaskier to fight his way out of the haze his brain has descended into. By the time he does, he’s been cleaned up, and Geralt and Eskel are clean as well. He’s sandwiched between them on the bed, his back pressed into Eskel’s chest while Geralt holds both of them.

“Welcome back,” Geralt teases softly. Jaskier huffs and thumps his hand against the Witcher’s chest weakly.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mumbles.

“You can say that again,” Eskel mutters against the nap of his neck. “Gods, the both of you are incredible. Thank you.”

Jaskier grins and presses his face into Geralt’s chest. He hears the soft, wet sounds as he and Eskel kiss over his head and just grins wider. 

**Author's Note:**

> is this good? i don't know if this is good.
> 
> probably (???????) something cute and platonic w/vesemir next. who knows. i hope so. then, theoretically, letho (which i have started, actually).


End file.
